


Never

by CateAdams



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Break Up, Divorce, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2186904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateAdams/pseuds/CateAdams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and Nyota have been bonded for almost three months, ever since Spock’s pon farr. Unfortunately, their relationship is not as either of them wished it to be and Nyota is faced with a difficult choice. When something never should have been, what does it take to recognize it? And how hard is it to walk away and allow another to take your place?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never

 

(posted on ksarchive.com on 19 August 2014)

 

     Nyota lay in bed watching the ceiling, the stifling covers pushed away from her restless body. It was deep into gamma shift, and she could feel her husband’s approach as a faint tingle in the back of her mind. Her husband, as he had been for almost three months now, since his _pon farr_ and their three-day sojourn on New Vulcan. Since they had beamed back up to the ship to an impromptu party and a litany of congratulations. Almost three months since she had started to believe that this was all a mistake.

     She absently played with the thin gold band on her finger, homage to human custom. The bond felt vague and slippery in her thoughts, almost shocking in its alien quality. He had told her that he could not read her thoughts or sense her emotions unless they were particularly strong or if she deliberately intended it, but she couldn’t avoid a disturbing sense of constraint: she never felt alone anymore, and instead of the comfort and security she had imagined, she felt restricted, and always on guard. And she had only the barest sensation of his mind: cool and steadfast, rational and ordered, flat. Exactly what she should have expected, perhaps, but not what she had hoped.

     What she had hoped to find was what she had seen only glimpses of, before. Deep vulnerability after his mother had died, uncontrolled grief after Jim’s transient death. The startling joy she had seen in the smile Spock had exchanged with the captain in the days before they reached New Vulcan, when his controls were wavering. And most of all, the powerful longing and deep devotion she had felt radiating from him as he stood between her and Jim during the marriage ceremony. However, in the immediate aftermath of the _plak tow_ , when she lay in his arms in a dark, secluded house on his adopted world, she had searched their new connection for those intense emotions and had felt none of them. If anything, there was a fleeting sense of deep loss, of helpless confusion, of hidden pain. She had not mentioned it, and when he had come back to himself he had not seemed to remember.

     He was polite and attentive, a gentle and considerate lover, but the passion she had expected had never appeared, even during the _pon farr_ , when he had been more detached than anything else, and the formation of the bond in her mind had felt awkward and almost reluctant, like two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit.

     She shifted anxiously against the feeling of the sheets beneath her body, suddenly and sharply irritated because she couldn’t easily blame him for this. He was the same: the same man who always waited for her to make the first move, who never seemed to understand her, whose careful explanations and cautious apologies seemed initially satisfactory, and then, later, left her feeling empty. She frowned, feeling silly for doing what her own mother and older sisters had always cautioned her against: wanting a man only so she could change him. And was it true? She had fallen in love with him for his intelligence, his looks and his impeccable sense of honor, with that almost comical naiveté regarding humans, with the fact that he seemed unattainable. And perhaps most importantly of all, she knew he would never hurt her the way others had, at least deliberately. Here, in the dark, after the fact, she felt like a fool, and she almost hated him for it.

     Resentment surged, followed closely behind by guilt and then by the familiar harsh pang of self-loathing, because she knew that while she felt angry and trapped and regretful, something far more serious was wrong with her husband. She could feel it even now, as he neared their door: a subtle glimmer of a larger pain, the loss she had seen before magnified into a perceptible agony that hovered on the fringe of her weak perception of the bond. She turned her head slightly, watching the light from the hallway spill briefly into their cabin as the door opened and closed, listening to the sounds of his measured footsteps moving towards the sleeping area. She didn’t need the lights to know how he looked: the overly pale skin and gauntness, dark circles under his eyes, and tight lines around his mouth. He appeared tired and worn ever since the _pon farr_ , and she had been willing to believe that he had simply not yet recovered from the fever, until lately. Until lately, she had thought it had nothing to do with her, and now it was all she could see. His pain, her growing defensive distance: her ability to feel was wearing her out, and the lack of his was tearing him apart.

     He stripped off his uniform and dressed in a t-shirt and loose pants, his lean form illuminated in the flickering, soft reddish colors of his _asenoi_ , his careful movements exacerbating her immediate need to address this _thing_ between them. She shifted on the bed impatiently, sitting up fully and folding her legs underneath her, her heart suddenly pounding. He paused. “Are you well, my wife?”

     She stifled the urge to make a face, feeling childishly petulant. Before they were married, he would call her by her name in a voice that thrilled her with its tenderness. Now, she felt cheated in some way by her new title. “I’m fine.” She knew that he knew it was a lie. “I want to talk. About us.”

     She saw his shoulders tighten, and she swallowed, pointing at the bed. “Sit down.”

     He obeyed, as she knew he would. He would always put others before his own needs, and she feared that this oblivious selflessness had helped to lead them to this place. She shifted again, turning to face him fully, directly. “What happened to us?” She felt light-headed, and didn’t know if it was from anxiety or anticipation.

     He took a breath, let it out. “I do not know.”

     “So you feel it, too.” She licked her lips. “You’re in pain.”

     She could sense his instinctive denial coming, and waved her hand sharply. “Don’t deny it.”

     “As you wish.”

     “Why?” She hesitated, knowing that admitting the next was a first step to losing him. She could feel it now as a cold pit in her stomach, but she had come too far to stop now, and her voice did not shake. “It’s our bond, isn’t it?”

     She saw his hands flex where they lay on his lap. “Perhaps I have not adequately dealt with the increase in emotional exposure. Perhaps increased meditation is called for.”

     “Perhaps we should never have bonded in the first place.” She had not meant to say it, had barely allowed herself to think it, but as the words left her dry mouth she knew that she had been subconsciously considering it since their wedding. This marriage wasn’t as she thought it would be. He wasn’t as she hoped he would be. She automatically chastised herself for her very human attitude, and a new, defiant voice inside her screamed that she shouldn’t feel ashamed for that.

     His eyes were unfathomably dark in the low light, and he slowly raised a hand. “May I join your mind?”

     She hesitated again, even leaned back slightly, and she felt his hurt like a dull pressure against her thoughts. “I can’t. I don’t want to.” Her voice now held a tremor and the cold pit had yawned open, as if she had set herself on an irrevocable path. He remained silent, and she could vaguely feel him struggle with his shields, felt the pain flicker along the bond as he lowered his hand again.

     A stab of guilt consumed her, and she fought back against herself with irrational anger, determined to keep this on her terms. “Where were you tonight?”

     He tilted his head. “I was playing chess in the captain’s quarters.”

     He wouldn’t lie to her, even now when lying would be easiest. Her anger grew, fueled by self-disgust and an urge to lash out at something. “With Jim.” She knew her tone was sarcastic and bitter, as it always was when she complained about time spent with his friend. Her inner voice was suddenly incredulous, and she wondered how she had ever allowed herself to succumb to pettiness.

     “Affirmative.” And there, finally, was a touch of temper; always coming out with Jim and never with her. She felt like she had that awful day on the bridge, when he had roughly pushed past her, sprinting to be with his friend. At least Jim had been dying, then. The self-loathing bloomed, and she swung her legs out of bed, standing abruptly and walking several paces away, wanting to scream all number of illogical accusations and threats, and knowing that it wouldn’t matter, that it would only shatter any chance she had of coming out of this with her self-perception intact.

     The yawning pit inside her had reached its limits and she didn’t know how much she could truly blame him without becoming exactly like everyone else in his life. Everyone else who expected him to be different and took it personally when he demonstrated again and again that he was unique. What is, is. _Kaiidth_. Fucking Vulcan philosophy and ridiculous expectations and happily ever after.

     “I’m going. I’m going to the gym; I can’t deal with this right now.” She ordered the lights up and pulled Academy sweats out of her drawer, pulling them on defiantly and slipping on her sneakers. He didn’t stop her, and she refused to meet his eyes. She stalked to the door, hoping he would say something, but he never did and she resisted the urge to kick the wall on the way out.

 

 

     She did not go to the gym. Five minutes later she stood in front of a door she knew she had no business being in front of, but she was angry and frustrated enough not to give a fuck. Jim answered the door on the first buzz, and she strode boldly in, waiting until the door closed behind her to whirl on him, shouting the first thing that came to mind.

     “He’s my fucking husband!” She hardly recognized her own voice, her tone vicious and hysterical, and she watched as shock, panic, and realization flashed across his face.

     “I know!” he shot back angrily, his breathing harsh. As she watched, the aggressive emotions faded into sadness and resignation. “I know. For fuck’s sake, Nyota, I know.”

     She stared at him, suddenly understanding why she had blurted that particular phrase at him, really seeing for the first time. Seeing him standing by and letting the man he loved go to another, saying nothing even though his own heart was breaking. And she was suddenly jealous of his forbearance, knowing that she herself was not capable of it. Even now she came to throw it in his face. She felt her cheeks heat, and she lowered her eyes.

     Jim swallowed, hard, and she looked up again, seeing familiar pain in his eyes, new lines on his face, a pale, gaunt look that hadn’t been there three months ago. And it struck her suddenly: Spock’s smile, his loss of control, the powerful longing, the pain, the _devotion_. It was all for Jim, and it had been since the beginning.

     He was perceptive, and she knew that she held her own emotions on her face. It aided in communication, of course, and she had also never been one to hide behind anything. Even behind her sham of a marriage, in front of the one man who, she knew now, would take everything away from her. But, perceptive as he was, he was not cruel, and she saw his anguish as clear as day in his blue eyes. Anguish, but no guilt. They had not betrayed her, and she knew that they never would. She could keep silent and go back to Spock and live her life and Jim would never approach him, nor he Jim. She considered it, for a moment, if just to hang on to the last bit of control she had before it all flew away.

     “Does he know?”

     She saw Jim’s shoulders relax slightly, but his eyes were wary. “No. I’ve never told him.” He stared at her, and it was disconcerting to see fear in his eyes. “I won’t tell him.” His voice had a note of finality it in, and she flinched slightly. Two selfless men, and neither willing to ask for what they wanted; perhaps not even realizing what it was until it was too late. Because of her: because of their respect for her, their affection for her. Affection.

     She opened her mouth, her next words sticking in her throat. A second passed. Two. “I think...I think he loves you, too.”

     It was the bright spark of hope in his eyes that finally pushed her into tears, and she found herself on the floor of his quarters, curled in on herself, crying like a child. He dropped next to her and was holding her, rocking her slightly, and she allowed him. She had not been held like this in so long, and she could feel his own tears where his head bent close to hers.

     “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nyota.” He was murmuring apologies, but she felt as if she could be saying them too, that she should have seen it, even if they didn’t. She was tired of fighting, and for what? For a ring, for a promise, for something that never should have happened? Keeping Spock would come at a price too high for either of them, and Jim, too. She supposed she deserved a medal for being so fucking noble, but she would be satisfied to simply leave with her pride intact.

     Gently, she pulled away from Jim’s embrace, knowing that Spock could sense her distress. “I’ve got to go. He’s worried.”

     Jim nodded mutely, and she stood up, wiping her eyes and straightening her rumpled clothes, leaving him sitting on the floor looking up at her with an unreadable expression as she turned to leave. The doors to his cabin opened and closed again, and she walked down the corridor, her head up, adrenaline starting to pound again through her system, wondering if she possessed the strength for what had to be done next.

 

 

     The lights were on when she re-entered their quarters, but she had expected that. He was standing next to the computer desk, still in his sleep clothes, expressionless, and she managed a glare, hoping, at the last, to force a response from him. She saw an eyebrow go up, and a line appeared between his brows, and she flipped her hair over her shoulder, matching his formal stance.

     “I want the bond broken. I want a divorce.”

     She could tell that whatever he had been expecting, it was not that. His mouth opened and closed, and then he stepped forward, distress now clearly written on his face. “My wife, I do not understand.”

     “My name is Nyota. And you never wanted me, not like this. You wanted him.”

     “Nyota.” She realized he must sense the gravity of the situation in order to capitulate that quickly. “I do not understand.”

     “ _Jim_ , Spock. You need Jim.”

     “I do not...I have not... .”

     She held up a hand. “I know you haven’t. I know you never would. But this, between us, is causing both of us pain, and I’m tired of having you walk around like a ghost, tired of feeling your body but not your soul.” She sighed. “I knew you wanted him at the _koon-ut-kalifee_. You were out of your head and couldn’t rationalize it away, perhaps didn’t even realize it before then, but you wanted him. And after we were bonded, I could feel your grief because it wasn’t him at your side and in your mind. Do you think I want to live like that?”

     “You are my wife. I am bound to you.”

     “That’s not good enough. I think both of us went into this with expectations for something else, and on the other side, I think we both need to be honest. At least, we need to be honest with each other.” She stepped towards him, meeting his eyes, assertive. “Do you love him?”

     “I am bonded to you.”

     Her voice now held a tinge of frustration. “Spock, do you love him?”

     She saw that same flicker of hope in his eyes that had flashed through Jim’s, and she knew that their marriage was over. He would not answer her, directly, but his eyes couldn’t hide it, and she was suddenly very tired. Slowly, she slipped the gold band off of her finger and placed it on the desk in front of him. “I want the bond broken. Can you do it? Now?”

     “Yes.”

     A human would have argued or asked her to reconsider, or at least to delay. But he was not human, and he paid her the compliment of acknowledging that she knew her own mind. She stepped closer still, raising her chin, and saw him swallow, saw him hesitate, saw his hand shake as he slowly raised it to her meld points. The connection was immediate, and, as always, almost uncomfortably sharp. She forced herself to relax as she felt him reach, and she gasped involuntarily as she felt the bond begin to unravel. It happened quickly, and almost perfunctorily, and as she felt his hand move away, she was suddenly alone again, and, closing her eyes, took a deep, cleansing breath, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

     Her relief was shattered by a small, choked noise, and her eyes flew open as he suddenly swayed and stumbled back, hitting the desk behind him and falling to sit heavily on the floor in front of her, his face contorted. Surprised and alarmed, she fell to her knees beside him. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

     He looked right past her and his hands were shaking badly, and she cursed herself for a fool for forgetting his unswerving selflessness. Everything, at the cost of himself, even the risk of another broken bond in a sea of shattered connections. She held out her hand but he flinched away from her, and with rising desperation, she found herself reaching up to the desk and paging the one person she knew could help.

     Jim came immediately, appeared without defenses or accusations, and she moved aside to let him kneel down next to his friend. Blue eyes looked at her once, and held a single question, and she closed her eyes and nodded.

     His first touch was to Spock’s face, two fingers extended, a tentative caress, and the Vulcan’s head turned, his expression softening. She saw their eyes meet and saw everything she had always wanted spark behind a dark gaze. And then she couldn’t bear to watch any more and turned to go, leaving her ring and leaving her marriage, her pride weighing heavily within her.

 

 

     In the end, she knew what she had with Spock was never meant to be. She knew it in the renewed brightness of his eyes and the sound of her name, again spoken in that gentle voice. He eventually told her that he had found his _t’hy’la_ , and she had responded in the only way she could to make sense of it all; in a single word that encompassed so much, and yet excused nothing: _kaiidth_. And she had seen him incline his head, knowing that, at last, they understood each other. It would have to be enough.

 

 

THE END

 

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, and I do not make any money from this.

 

 


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